


Not even close

by ash_carpenter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Facials, Humiliation, M/M, Spanking, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1363450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_carpenter/pseuds/ash_carpenter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're frustrated and antsy, pissed at each other and suffering from cabin fever. Nasty sex can be cathartic - but it's a little dangerous when there's so much rage just looking for release.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not even close

****  
Not even close  


Dean slumped in his chair and knocked back his – fifth? – drink of the day, barely feeling the raw burn down his throat. He’d never resumed his pre-Purgatory drinking levels, knowing that the DTs were pretty bad fucking news for a hunter, but today he really would welcome a little oblivion, if he could find it.

He hadn’t even seen Sam since Crowley had fucked off with the first blade, and he was quietly seething about it. He’d thought that he’d used up all his hurt over Sam’s rejection, but apparently he’d been wrong. Most of the time he felt pretty numb about it, but the pain crept up and punched him in the chest every so often, fuelling his resentment. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what Sam was saying – he did – but he couldn’t comprehend what his brother was _feeling_. He didn’t love Dean enough to want to be brothers, to want to stick around and have his back no matter how shitty the world got. He didn’t think that keeping his brother alive and safe was the most important thing in the world.

Basically, Sam couldn’t – and shouldn’t – put his brother on a pedestal and prioritise him over everything, including his own free will. Dean couldn’t do anything else.

They were at odds and always had been. Dean supposed he’d already known that, but it still made him angry and it made him bitter. He felt like a fool, and it reminded him of that old suppressed worthlessness of knowing that he was never first on his dad’s list of priorities. Basically, it fucking sucked, and drinking it away was going neither as well nor as speedily as he would have liked.

As if on cue to sour his mood even further, Sam chose that moment to grace Dean with his presence, walking into the main room with his laptop in one hand.

“Hey,” he said neutrally, and Dean grunted in response, reaching for the bottle of whiskey at his elbow.

“Getting an early start today?” asked Sam, sitting across from Dean and one chair down, booting up his computer.

Dean shrugged. “What difference does it make?”

“That’s the attitude,” said Sam sarcastically. “I was gonna look for a case; if I find one, guess I’m driving.”

“How about if you find one, you shove it up your ass, Sam? I’m not in the mood for this.”

“Do you remember the days when you were a happy drunk?”

“Not really.”

Sam snorted and turned his attention to tapping at his laptop keys for a few minutes. Dean figured he must have been scowling too loudly or something though, because after an appropriate amount of passive-aggressive silence, Sam said in his matter-of-fact, too-reasonable tone, “Being cooped up has always made you pissy. You should do something to blow off some steam.”

Dean sighed. Sam knew better than to give him helpful lifestyle tips when he was morose and drinking, which probably meant that he was trying to pick an argument. After all, he was probably suffering from cabin fever too.

“And what do you suggest? Maybe a healthy morning run, or a trip to the Farmer’s Market? I’m not you, Sam, no matter how much you wish I were or how much better of a human being you think it would make me.”

“So, blow off steam in your own way. Go shoot something. Tinker with the cars. Whatever.”

“Oh, blow me, Sam,” snarled Dean. Condescending prick.

Sam shrugged carelessly, no longer pretending to play with his laptop. “Hey, we could do that too. Sex usually stops you being such an uptight dick. At least for a few minutes.”

Dean gaped at Sam, revising his estimation of just how antsy and pissed off his little brother was, how much he was clearly spoiling for a fight.

“You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?”

Dean got to his feet and paced, too furious to sit still. “So I’m not good enough to be your brother, but I’m still good enough to fuck?”

“Do you know how wrong that sounds...?”

“Shut up, Sam! This isn’t goddamned funny.”

Sam rose to his feet too, so quickly and forcefully that his chair clattered over behind him. “You’re damned right it’s not funny. This is _your_ fault, Dean. I’m still here, I haven’t left, but I had to be honest about how I feel and you need to fucking accept that you’ve done something wrong! But no. Instead you’re moping around the place, drinking rather than doing anything useful, and I’m frankly sick of you being such a whiny bitch about it.”

“Oh, is that right,” said Dean, laughing incredulously without even a hint of real humour. “And what ‘useful’ thing is it exactly that you think I should be doing? Letting you stick your dick in me?”

“That’s not what I was talking about,” snapped Sam, and they were both stalking around the table now, getting closer to one another as their rage boiled over. “But now that you mention it, I would consider that pretty useful, yeah.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you would,” hissed Dean , getting right up in Sam’s face. “Well, guess what? You may find this hard to believe, but I’m not feeling real inclined to roll over for you right now.” He gave Sam a hard, two-handed shove, realising suddenly – and without much surprise – that his dick was fattening up in his jeans. The combination of rage, adrenaline and Sam tended to have that effect on him. Their very first time together had exploded out of a sparring match.

Sam rounded back on him, snatching Dean’s right wrist and wrapping his other hand around his jaw, squeezing his cheeks together hard to make a shocked round ‘o’ of his mouth.

“Maybe I don’t give a shit what you’re ‘inclined’ to do. Maybe I’ll just put you on your knees regardless and make use of this pretty whore mouth of yours.”

Fury and lust surged through Dean’s body, and he took a moment to secretly appreciate the strength of Sam’s grip before twisting out of it and backhanding his brother with his left hand. “And maybe Crowley’s ice-skating down there in Hell. If you wanna play a round of prison bitch, then I’m game – but I’ll ream you so hard you’ll be walking funny for a week.”

This was so fucking dangerous. Sure, they’d played rough before – plenty – but never with all this hate and black, bitter anger driving them. Always, someone had backed down in the end and they’d been careful not to hurt one another too badly. Now? There was a good chance they were going to rip each other apart.

Sam sneered at him, as if there wasn’t a chance that Dean could take him. It was true that Sam was bigger, a little stronger, but Dean was both faster and meaner, and he had the added advantage of having taught Sam how to fight, which made him easy to anticipate. However, a pissed Sam was an intimidating opponent by anyone’s standards, and Dean soon realised that he was going to pull every dirty trick he knew to get Dean off guard and push him into making a rash mistake.

“You know, there’s this fantasy I have about you – it’s got me off for years. I used to feel guilty about it, especially after your tour in Hell, but I kinda seem to be over that now. It involves you and a group of guys – like, guys you’ve pissed off in a bar or something. Only they don’t wanna kick your ass; they wanna pass you around like a little bitch.”

Shaking, teeth gritted, Dean circled Sam, who turned and kept watching him warily, for all the affected casualness of his tone.

“So, they strip you down, right there in the bar or whatever, and they make you do things for them. They slap you around and spank you, and they made you suck their cocks – and they’re feeling you up the whole time, dragging your around on your knees by the hair. They’ve all got their phones out too, taking pictures and videos and stuff. And they make you beg for their dicks and for their come.”

“Sam, shut the fuck up. Right now,” warned Dean. He was hard, damn it, but there was a red mist descending over his vision and he just wanted to put his brother through the goddamned wall.

“And you don’t fight, not really. And you know why?” Sam smiled, dimples denting his cheeks as if he was telling Dean some cute anecdote. “Because you fucking love it.”

Incensed, Dean leaped at Sam, barrelling into him. They crashed down onto the big wooden table, making it creak in protest, and then rebounded off onto the floor. Dean rolled them and came out on top, taking advantage of having winded Sam briefly, and he pinned Sam’s shoulders to the floor with his knees.

“Told you...you fucking...love it,” panted Sam, nodding at Dean’s crotch.

Dean slapped him around the face – once, twice, three times – only just hard enough to hurt, but loud and stinging enough to be humiliating. “Maybe what I love is the thought of holding you down on the ground and face-fucking you.”

Dean rocked forwards, grabbing Sam’s hair and pulling his head up sharply at the same time. He rubbed his crotch against Sam’s face, practically scent-marking him as stubble scratched against denim and he ground his dick hard against Sam’s mouth and cheek.

“Get the fuck off me,” growled Sam, slightly muffled, as he fought to get his arms out from beneath Dean’s shins and yank his face away.

“What was that? Get off in you? Oh, I will. You know what I love best? That feeling of you choking around my cock. Your throat closes and you make these panicked little noises and you cry like a girl.”

Sam twisted from side to side, trying to escape the rough friction of Dean humping against his face. Finally, he managed to buck his body up from the floor, tossing Dean over his head. Immediately he flipped over, throwing himself on top of his prone brother before he even managed to get his knees under him.

Sam slammed one hand down on the back of Dean’s neck and pressed him roughly to the stone floor, slipping his other hand inside the neck of Dean’s t-shirt and tearing violently, so that it ripped all the way down the back and flapped uselessly to the side.

“Asshole!” yelped Dean, shivering from both the rush of cool air and the feel of Sam’s hard dick as he straddled his upper thighs. Dean tried to flail back and hit his brother, but couldn’t reach, and Sam used his free hand to start yanking at Dean’s belt.

“I’m gonna beat your ass,” said Sam, unfastening the buckle and pulling the leather free from its loops with a forceful tug. “I like it when it’s all cherry red, and you wince and mewl when I fuck you. You pretend you don’t like it, but you come so hard. Most of the time I don’t even have to touch you, right? Little cockslut.”

Dean cried out in outrage as his jeans were jerked down below the swell of his ass and Sam landed folded leather against his cheeks in a heavy stripe. Even though he couldn’t get much force behind it while holding Dean to the floor, it still hurt like a son of a bitch. And sure, Dean did like a bit of pain with his pleasure – most especially when Sam was the one inflicting it – but he didn’t like the humiliation factor of having his little brother tanning his ass and deliberately pointing out how hard Dean got off on it.

Sam landed a quick succession of hard smacks, relishing the loud thwack of the leather. Almost instantly, the creamy skin of Dean’s ass turned hot and pink, and Sam dropped the belt for a moment in favour of first placing his hand on the spanked skin, and then landing a couple of open-handed slaps. He smiled when Dean yelped, deciding that he ought to get his brother trussed up so that he could take better advantage of his delectable ass.

Leaning down and pressing his chest tight to Dean’s back, Sam stuck his tongue obscenely in Dean’s ear, knowing that he found it both arousing and disgusting. Sam chuckled at the moan and shudder he received, then murmured, “I’m gonna tie your hands behind your back and fuck you into the floor like a worthless whore.”

Dean growled a little, but didn’t do anything until Sam was forced to release his neck in order to try to wrestle his hands behind his back – and then he made his move. Rearing up, he managed to throw Sam off his back, and he immediately flipped over, cuffing Sam around the face to send him sprawling so that Dean had time to scramble to his feet. Before Sam could recover, Dean snatched a handful of his hair and cruelly hauled him up onto his knees, smiling viciously at his yelp of pain. Not giving Sam any time to get his bearings, Dean gripped his shirt with his free hand and yanked it halfway down Sam’s arms, deliberately trapping them together behind his back.

Shrugging out of his ruined t-shirt and letting his own unfastened pants fall open, Dean took the opportunity to pull his cock out of the confines of his underwear while Sam cursed and tried to fight his way out of his shirt. Dean gave him a warning smack around the face and shook Sam’s head via his hair.

“Hey! Stop squirming; I got ya fair and square. And now you’re gonna suck my dick, you little bitch.” He leaned down, grinning at Sam’s murderous glare. One hand still fisted tightly in Sam’s overlong bangs, Dean gripped Sam’s chin and held tight, suddenly darting forwards to lick over his mouth in a couple of thick, wet stripes. He forced his tongue inside briefly, before Sam managed to jerk his face away and snarl out an invective.

Dean stood back up to his full height, stepping forward and smacking his heavy cock against Sam’s face, making him gasp. He still wasn’t free from his impromptu bondage and Dean wasn’t letting him move his head very far, no matter how hard he tried.

“You don’t want this in you?” asked Dean sweetly, guiding the head over Sam’s lips and leaving a wet smear. When Sam tried to shake his head, Dean said, “Tell me not to do it, Sammy.”

“Don’t,” Sam hissed.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t put that fucking thing in my mouth.”

Dean roughly shoved his thumb between Sam’s lips, working it in until he could stab at the hinge of Sam’s jaw, forcing him to open wide. Rolling his eyes at Sam’s howl of protest, he didn’t waste any time pressing his dick inside to shut him up.

He was so fucking turned on, the still-simmering anger giving a sharp edge to both his desire and his pleasure, and he immediately began to fuck Sam’s face, dragging him back and forth by the hair. He gagged every few strokes, and Dean held him fast, pelvis right up against Sam’s lips, until he could feel his throat convulsively tightening. Then Dean let him up for a gulp of air before plunging back in, admiring the tears streaking down his cheeks and the spit and pre-come smeared all over his face.

“Yeah, that’s it. Choke on it. Wish I had a collar for you so that I could hold you even tighter.”

Dean laughed at how he had to fight to keep Sam still then. He began to pump his hips harder, really slamming into his brother, noticing how wet his groin and pants were from Sam’s drool and how the nasty slurping sounds echoed around the bunker. God, he was going to come so fucking hard.

“Gonna make me come, huh? Are you ready for me? Ready for me to come all over that pretty face?”

Sam tried to shake his head and pull away, but Dean ignored him. Just as he was right on the edge, he withdrew and jacked himself over, crying out as his orgasm ripped through him and he splashed long, thick ropes of come all over Sam. He caught his hair, across his eyes and cheeks, all over his lips and chin, and managed to aim a few thick spurts into his panting mouth, making him cough.

Dean’s grip weakened as the leaden bliss of post-orgasmic haze thrummed through his body and he slumped a little, idly stroking over his spent cock.

Sam evidently saw his chance – and took it.

He must have worked himself free of his shirt right as Dean was coming, because he reached up and snatched tight hold of his startled brother, yanking sharply and bringing him crashing to the ground as he tripped over his own feet. Sam pushed him face-first against the gritty floor and quickly straddled his ass, grinding down against him.

Sam didn’t waste time with words. He ran his hand over his desecrated face, gathering a fistful of Dean’s spunk, and he used the slick mess to coat his cock and three fingers, which he roughly stuffed inside Dean to a shout of shocked pain, stretching him out quickly.

Dean tried to move, but he was lethargic, most of his rage shot out through his cock, and he couldn’t escape Sam. Part of him didn’t want to – he’d got his rocks off and he figured that Sam deserved the same. Dean would probably even enjoy it, even if it was too soon for him to get hard again. However, Sam had given him the fun of fighting against him and being all deliciously defiant and shamed, so Dean obligingly writhed and tried unsuccessfully to throw him off.

“Stop moving,” hissed Sam, giving his already bruising ass a hard smack.

“Fuck you,” replied Dean, looking over his shoulder. “You’ve served your purpose, bitch, and I’m done with you.”

Sam gave a short, nasty laugh. “Yeah? Well, I’m not done with you and your slutty ass. Shut the fuck up.”

Sam followed up his words by spitting on Dean’s face, causing him to shout out in humiliated outrage. He tried harder to squirm out from underneath Sam as the saliva dribbled over his cheek and lips, cursing his brother out for demeaning him even as he felt a dirty deep clench of lust in his belly.

Perhaps deciding that Dean needed some help with keeping quiet, Sam slapped a hand over his mouth as he blanketed Dean with his body. He pulled his fingers mostly free of Dean’s ass, hooking just the fingertips inside the rim and stretching his hole wide. Then he thrust inside with a hard shove, driving with his hips to get past the resistance. Dean tried to cry out but Sam dug his fingers into his cheek and jaw, covering his mouth more tightly.

Sam cursed and began to fuck into Dean with hard, deep strokes, making sure to pound him into the floor. He reached his free hand beneath Dean, grabbing obscenely at his balls and soft, spent cock, and Dean felt him shudder with lust.

“So hot,” murmured Sam in his ear, licking at the shell. “Fucking you when you’re not even hard, when your dick’s all small and limp.”

Dean grunted as Sam continued to maul him, squeezing his junk, and thought that he’d get hard again if his brother took more than a couple of minutes to come. But that wasn’t likely, because he knew Sam’s tells and he was making those punched-out little moans that indicated he was close, his thrusts almost frantic and slightly disjointed.

It was debasing, just getting used like some kind of whore, body pinned to the ground and mouth gagged by his brother’s hand. But he knew that was the point, that was what was getting Sam off so hard. It was kind of difficult to take right then, given how rocky their relationship was and all the resentment they harboured, but it was hot too and cathartic in a fucked up way.

“Fuck,” moaned Sam, hands clenching convulsively on Dean’s face and cock. Dean could tell that he was enjoying the very rare opportunity to fuck his brother like this, with Dean passive and not aroused. With how much anger he had, it was no doubt cathartic for him too, and Dean – much to his own annoyed dismay – was sort of hoping that this might help Sam to start getting past it and start forgiving him.

“You’re gonna make me come,” panted Sam, hips right up against Dean’s pelvis and fucking in with short, grinding strokes. “Fuck...gonna...”

Sam keened and pumped his hips another couple of times, then pulled out with a gasp, making Dean hiss against his hand. He was already coming as he got his cock free, and he spurted spunk over Dean’s ass and back, all over his hot skin. Dean grimaced at the slick feel of semen running down his sides and his crack in little rivulets, and he tried to bite at Sam’s hand as a hint to let him go.

“What’s the matter?” asked Sam breathlessly, leaning his face close to Dean’s. “Want me to let you up now, huh? Okay, sweetheart, ‘cause _now_ I’m done with you.” He released Dean’s mouth and gave him a dismissive little peck on the cheek before pushing himself to his feet and righting his clothing, brushing at the dirt on his jeans from where he’d been kneeling earlier.

Dean winced as he tried to sit up, his body aching and protesting the movement. As he struggled upright with the help of the table, he pulled his jeans up over his sore, enflamed, spunk-covered ass. He felt utterly wrecked – and was sure he looked it, too. The sex had been hot, no doubt about it, but sordid and nasty in a way that he’d never felt before, despite the fact that they’d been committing incest for half Sam’s life.

“Feel better?” he asked Sam hoarsely, after they’d both caught their breaths for a few moments in tense silence.

“Sure. See, I knew you could be useful if you put your mind to it.”

Dean huffed out a bleak laugh at his brother’s bitchy attitude. “Right.” He tried to fasten his pants, then realised that he desperately needed a shower anyway, so gave up. He felt all dirty and used up. “Well, I’m glad there’s at least one reason why you think I’m worth being kept around.”

“It’s not like you didn’t get what you wanted too, Dean,” said Sam, slightly reproachfully.

Dean just grunted and headed for the door. At the last second, against his better judgement, he stopped and turned back to stare frankly at Sam. The rage was all gone; now he just felt sad.

“That wasn’t even close to what I want, little brother.”

He gave a small, defeated half-smile and turned away again, starting for the door and freezing in shock when he felt Sam’s hands grab him: he hadn’t even heard Sam move.

He almost stumbled as he was spun around, and he gave a muffled gasp as Sam’s mouth was pressed to his for a few seconds, hard and almost desperate. Dean was so surprised that he barely got it together to respond before Sam drew away from him, softly bunting their heads together and making a small noise of frustration.

“Me either,” he admitted quietly. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t apologise. He just huffed a little and shared breath with Dean, closing his eyes wearily.

Dean didn’t really know what it meant. He was too tired to figure it out, too drained – not from the filthy sex, but from all the weeks of disconnect and forcing himself to keep his distance. He didn’t want to risk ruining whatever progress they might be making with stupid words, so he just gently pressed their mouths together in a sweet, near-chaste kiss.

Sam’s fingers dug into his shoulders for a few seconds and then he pushed away, heading back over to the table. Dean thought for a minute that Sam wasn’t going to say anything, so he prepared himself to head for his shower, more confused than ever.

“So,” said Sam, and he looked back, breath unconsciously held.

“So?”

“So... Next time, we do something different.”

It was almost a question, so Dean nodded and smiled a little. “Yeah, okay. Next time.”

THE END.


End file.
